


put me back together

by thedevil_andgod



Series: a new world [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Avengers - Freeform, F/M, Post-Endgame, Reader Insert, Takes Place During Far From Home, powered reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-07-10 06:42:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19901470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevil_andgod/pseuds/thedevil_andgod
Summary: former avenger (reader) is lost in a world that never accepted her; having lost a family in saving that same world she is alone, empty, and numb.a mysterious stranger from an alternate reality piques her interest enough to draw her back into the world of superheros - but nothing is as it seems as this warped story unravels.





	1. breathless

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted on my tumblr; holdmewhilewewait

quentin beck was a meticulous man - he planned every facet of his revenge plot down to the smallest of details. arranged contingencies and back-up plans and waited, with the patience of a saint, for the correct moment to strike. he ensured any and all top-tier avengers were MIA, left it just long enough for SHIELD to pull together some semblance of it’s former operation but short enough so they were still finding their feet in the aftermath of the Blip. getting around the kid, parker, would be easy enough. he’d been through a tremendous amount of trauma, and quentin could use that to his advantage. 

the one thing quentin beck didn’t count on, though, was you. 

you, an avenger - or a former avenger, at least - who fell somewhere in the middle of all the others. not by power level, simply by how known you were. the widow and the hawk were rarely spotted and little was known about either, whilst iron man and captain america owned the heart and soul of the entire nation. banner was known for his destructive capabilities and thor worshipped for his literal godliness and appearance. 

how shallow the common folk can be, quentin always mused. 

then you - powerful, but not plastered across billboards or tv ads. quiet and lowkey, but not quite invisible. quentin was aware of your existence but never paid much attention to it, having heard that, following stark and roger’s deats that you’d quit the superhero charade and disappeared into the ether. 

so, the man of mysteries found himself more than a little surprised when fury showed up mexico, with you in tow. 

a little bit of panic hits as he watches you appraise the scene - this could be a problem, he thinks to himself, scanning his brain for any possible solution. it is only when he begins to interact with the shield agents that he notices something. 

although you are standing in his presence, alive, solid, real, it‘s pretty obvious you aren’t exactly _**there**_. haunted images flicker across an otherwise stoic face as shoulders bow from the weight of grief and guilt and trauma. glassy eyes stare through and not at, words mumbled in montone in response to fury. 

_okay_ , quentin thought, hiding a smirk, _i can work with this._

—

the plan changes ever-so-slightly before venice. it is simple but brilliant, even if he does say so himself. having already laid the groundwork for his tragic backstory, it is easy to weave your character into the tapestry he was creating. 

pained glances, longing expressions, a hesistant greeting - all little, subtle clues hinting to the fact that quentin knew you in his alternate world. 

fury picks up on it first, of course. the spy who’s secrets have secrets still has the eye for detail he’s famous for. you, on the other hand, are oblivious to quentin’s actions - obvlious to pretty much anything happening around you. you don’t speak unless directly spoken too, don’t offer insight or advice on how to defeat the elementals. it‘s almost like fury has dragged you here in a bid to convince you to return to the fold. 

quentin learns as much as he can about you as he flies over the sea to italy; not much could be gleaned from online sources but he pulls out just enough information to put together a rough sketch of who you are, what you wanted, what you’d lost.

you’d worked with the avengers since 2012, sided with stark in the infamous civil war years later - the idea of you being close to that man was enough to set quentin’s blood boiling - and had fought in both battles against the mad titan thanos. your powers were certainly impressive - your ability to conjure and manipulate fire set off a fresh worry. the final elemental that mysterio would face off against was the one made of ‘’flames’’ - what if you decided your powers would help with the destruction of the molten man? 

quentin files that thought away for later as he clicks on a rare picture printed on some trendy news site. he almost doesn’t recognise the girl in the photograph as you. you were younger, looked lighter, did not carry as many ghosts on your back. and you were smiling. wide and bright and shining and quentin struggled to pull himself away from the sight. 

when he did, he itemised the information he’d gathered into what he could and couldn’t use to win you over. after all, every superhero needs a love interest to protect, right? 

you were close to stark, that much was painfully, bitterly obvious. newsreports following the aftermath of the last battle hinted at an intimate relationship with the black widow, too. both those people were dead and gone and that meant there was something missing in her life. an empty space that quentin was certain he could fill. the battle had caused some damage to your powers - almost like a battery, the effort and strain of fighting thanos had drained your energy quite significantly. you were slowly returning to your original state, but right now you were weakened, hurting. vulnerable. 

perfect for quentin. 

he gathered his information, updated the team on this latest development, and braced himself for what would come next. 

—

when he reaches venice, it’s clear that fury has mentioned to you that quentin has taken an interest. you seem slightly more alert, meeting his gaze for periods longer than a half-second. your body language changes minutely - your arms, usually crossed tight across your chest, now hang looser at your waist, fingers interlaced. it is by no means a huge shift, but enough for quentin to make his move. 

after a meeting with agents, fury, and spiderman, he hangs around the base setup, lingering at consoles and waiting for the last of the people to trickle out. you have stayed on to keep an eye on quentin - fury is no fool and recognised that this stranger from some other world could turn out to be just as much a threat as the monsters he was fighting. quentin couldn’t surpress a smile as he thought, oh, you don’t know the half of it. 

he quickly rearranges his face when he clears his throat and approaches you, slowly. you glance up. he took his time to savour this moment - this scene he was most excited for. 

he smiles, softly. ‘’ hey. i was hoping i’d a get a chance to talk to you. ‘’

no verbal response; you simply gaze at him expectantly. 

quentin let his eyes take in every inch of your face - not a hardship, in fairness, you were beautiful in every way to him. if any other world really did exist you’re the girl he’d approach at a bar and offer to buy a drink. 

_focus_ , quentin, he reminds himself, and breathes out a short laugh. ‘’ it’s so good to see you. ‘’ 

again, no real answer. just a tilt of the head, confusion in the eyes. 

he let his fingers fall to the simple silver band on his left finger, twisting the metal around. your gaze follows the movements and there’s a brief moment where quentin swears he can see the cogs turning in your brain. 

the blank expression breaks - a frown furrowing your brow, lips parting in a silent ‘’ _oh_ ’’. excitement brims low in his belly - it’s working. she’s already figured it out. 

you take a breath and turn your head away. when you look back, your face is neutral once again. but there’s something there - a softness that’s new. a tiny chink in the armour, all that quentin needs. 

‘’ i’m sorry for your loss, ‘’ you tell him, ‘’ but i’m not her. ‘’ 

he nods quickly, ‘’ i know, i know. it’s just ... you look like her. ‘’ he falters in his words and feels tears building behind his eyes. seeing his watery gaze you clam up and he curses himself for getting too into it. after a second, however...

‘’ i know how it feels. to lose the one you love. to feel like it’s your fault, like you could’ve - should have - saved them, ‘’ you sigh and rub your face, tiredly. ‘’ but that’s not gonna help you save this world, quentin. ‘’ 

the sound of your name leaving his lips sends a tremor through his heart. he freezes momentarily - what is this feeling? - but quickly shakes out of it as you continue.

‘’ you gotta move on, ‘’ your voice is nothing more than a whisper, ‘’ you have a chance, now, to win, and you can’t let bad feelings ruin it. ‘’

you meet his gaze almost shyly, and he feels physically drawn in to you, doesn’t even realise his feet are moving until he’s barely a breath away. startled by the sudden closeness you take a step back and harden your features once again. 

quentin apologises, sounding sincere, ‘’ i didn’t realise ... you’re not like her, not entirely. she was ... she didn’t have powers. ‘’ he lets the ghost of a fake memory flutter across his face. ‘’ but she was still the strongest person i knew. ‘’ his voice splinters on the last word and tears slip down his face. 

you hesistate, he senses the uncertainty, and moves to turn away as though ashamed. 

his stomach does a victory flip when your hand comes to touch his armoured shoulder. from underneath long, damp lashes he peeks down at you. you look as though you’re hurting for him and something harsh twists in his chest. he doesn’t have time to think about it, though. not when your hand slides down the material of his costume and finds it’s way into his. 

you squeeze it gently, the unnatural warmth of your skin almost burning against his palm. quentin finds himself feeling comforted, tries to climb out of the moment and remember that this isn’t real - 

he slips a little bit when you squeeze his hand a second time, and say, ‘’ just make her proud, quentin. you can save this world. do it for her. ‘’ 

his breath leaves him and he’s silent for a long moment as he gazes down at your face. he feels cracked open, raw, vulnerable. eventually, he nods, waits for his voice to even out. squeezes your hand back, a little tighter than necessary. 

‘’ i’ll do my best. ‘’ 


	2. shattered glass

it’s almost as though quentin actually planned this - find the girl and take her to one of the most romantic cities in the world. show her all the sights, make her laugh, slowly take down her walls, brick by brick. 

the more time he spends with you the harder it becomes to disentangle himself. feelings grow deeper under early morning walks and late night chats. you never ask about the other you, the one quentin supposedly married.

you never talk about tony stark or natasha romanoff, either; when fury mentions iron man you stiffen in the corner and quentin does not miss the way your jaw clenches tight. he wants to poke and prod at these wounds left unhealed, but there’s no time before the stage is set and the water monster erupts from the intricate canals of venice’s streets. 

you’re not supposed to be there - you should have been tucked away at the base, safe and sound; but quentin sees you ushering a group of frightened tourists in the opposite direction of the threat. anger coils low in his chest as he watches your figure disappear around a corner - what if something had happened to you? 

how could you be so _careless_ with yourself? 

he grit his teeth and finished off the ‘’elemental’’ - needing some time to cool off and clear his head. 

—

you’re not at the debrief. quentin’s skin feels itchy as he wonders where you are. have you gone home? been sent out somewhere else? 

maybe you’d simply walked out. but why... why would you leave quentin? or peter, for that matter? how much you care for the kid is obvious - surely you wouldn’t just go. 

surely you - surely you hadn’t actually been injured. right? right? if you had someone would have found you by now. shield would know, wouldn’t they. isn’t that their **_jobs_**? isn’t that what they’re **_supposed to do?_**

the longer he goes without knowing the more the anger rises to the surface. he tries to pat it down lest he expose himself, cursing you for making him feel this way. his jaw twitches, fist flexing, fingers curling and uncurling and curling again - anything to get the nervous energy out of his system. 

after what feels like forever the briefing ends, the plan to get to prague is settled. quentin tries to catch fury but the slippery fucker is out the door in the blink of an eye. 

someone taps his shoulder. quentin turns sharply, - ‘’ _what_? ‘’ - then pulls his attitude in again when peter flinches back. he rubs his forehead and bares his teeth in a smile. 

‘’ sorry, spiderman. rough day, ‘’ he makes his excuses and the naieve kid nods and smiles and accepts too easy. 

‘’ it’s okay, mr- i mean, myst- i mean, quentin. um, i just - i noticed you were looking around a lot, during the meeting. if you’re looking for her, i can show you where she is? ‘’ 

god, this kid is painfully awkward at times, but damn if he isn’t useful. quentin nods once. spiderman nods, clearly happy to feel useful. ‘’ c’mon! ‘’ 

he darts out as quick as a bullet from a gun, and quentin has no choice but to follow the teenage hero out into the night. 

—

there’s a mural of red and gold painted large as life on the side of a building. your silhouette against it is dark and miniscule. quentin stands a few feet back and watches you stare at it. only when your shoulders begin to shake does he approach. 

your breaths are laboured, eyes gleaming with unshed tears. his earlier irriation fades away, though he fights to bring it back - you could have ruined it all by disobeying orders, showing up on the street mid-fight, you could have destroyed his plans in seconds - 

somehow, it doesn’t seem to matter anymore. 

‘’ hey. are you okay? ‘’

you snap out of the daze and your gaze falls to your feet. you nod and force a smile that’s too dull to be authentic as you look back up. his expression becomes one of caring and empathy, your heart hurting for the man who lost it all. 

‘’ m’fine. just ... ‘’ your eyes flicker once again to the painting before moving back to gaze over quentin’s shoulder. ‘’ i’m fine. ‘’ 

‘’ you wanna talk about it? ‘’

a humourless chuckle escapes your lips. more jagged glass than happiness. ‘’ no. ‘’ 

quentin pauses. knows that to push you too much too soon would ruin the carefully constructed plan he has perfected. he chances a comforting touch to your elbow, encouraged when you don’t move away. 

‘’ wanna go for a walk? ‘’ 

he hits you with the lopsided grin that he knows has an effect; inside, your stomach swoops and fuses spark lights in your chest. on the outside your eyes soften and your lips curve up in a tiny, but genuine, smile. 

quentin holds out his hand. you take it without hesistation. 

—

so much about you intrigues him. it’s easy to forget about the truth behind his intentions. your skin, hotter than any normal human being. the knowledge that you have the ability to snap his neck without blinking an eye is... alluring. intoxicating. you were so broken when he met you first, only a week ago. already he feels as though he’s putting you back together. it earns him some pride. 

light laughter and little, fragile smiles - moments as delicate as butterflies landing on his wrist. he yearns to touch, to pull, to hold. the plan takes priority, of course it does. but he’s worked so hard to get himself to this point. he deserves a little break with a pretty girl by his side. 

‘’ so, one more elemental, ‘’ you begin, conversationally. 

quentin nods. ‘’ one more. fire. the one that... the one that destroyed my world. ‘’ 

he swallows past an imaginary lump in his throat. he feels your eyes against the profile of his face. 

‘’ well, now you know what you’re up against. not often we get a second chance. ‘’ the words are bitter, maybe unintentionally, but bitter all the same. 

‘’ you did, ‘’ he points out, gently. ‘’ with thanos, right? ‘’

you huff a callous, cold laugh. ‘’ yeah. eventually won, i guess. supposedly. ‘’ 

there’s a darkness shadowing the curves of your face now, the kind that makes quentin’s heart rate pick up. ‘’ what do you mean? ‘’ 

you don’t answer for a long while. footsteps echo quietly around empty backstreets. it seems as though the city is deserted; inhabited only by the two of you, and the moon hanging low in the sky. still clad in his armour, quentin wishes to himself he’d had the foresight to change out of the clunky suit. 

in the moment of distraction caused by the discomfort, he doesn’t notice that you’ve paused in front of him. he slams straight into you; neither of you stumbling as he hits the solid heat of your body. 

you turn on your heel and offer a wry smile. ‘’ sorry, ‘’ you say, entirely insincere.he watches you lean back against the wall, the shadowed alleyway covering up most of your features. your eyes, though. they burn through the night and quentin is powerless to their draw. 

he cocks his head to the side. ‘’ what did you mean? ‘’ he presses. ‘’ a minute ago. ‘’ 

‘’ it’s nothing. forget i said anything. ‘’ 

‘’ hey, come on. you can talk to me, you know, ‘’ he cajoles, inching closer. 

you sigh; ‘’ you have enough on your plate, ‘’ she insists, but your resolve to stay silent is weakening. he can feel it. 

‘’ you have listened to me talk about the tragedy of my own life since i got here, ‘’ he points out, lightly. ‘’ let me return the favour. ‘’ 

you consider the man of mystery in front of you: something about him you can’t quite put your finger on. maybe it’s the smile that always seems a little too sharp for comfort, or the eyes that can’t quite hide the gleam of potential insanity. something tells you, you shouldn’t trust him. something else tells you he’s the only one you should trust. 

‘’ it doesn’t feel like we won, ‘’ you admit, finally. the weight falling from your chest as the words fall from your lips, secrets with sharp edges that had been cutting in to you for eight long months. ‘’ tony stark and natasha romanoff, they died. they died so the world could live, and - and that’s what, that was the point. save the world. whatever it takes, ‘’ she spits out the last three words with an incredible amount of venom. ‘’ and it’s stupid and it’s careless and i don’t even care. i want them back. i want them back so badly i would, god. i would **burn** this version of reality to the ground to bring ‘em back. ‘’ 

quentin ... did not expect this. yet somehow is unsurprised; and suddenly understands. this is what drew him in. this hidden darkness, this anger and rage hidden in layers of sadness. the breath catches in his throat as he realises; _we’re the same, you and i._ we both want revenge.

excitement sizzles in his veins and in that moment all he wants to do is wrap you in his arms and pull you into his embrace. he reigns himself in, patience, quentin, patience, and allows himself a single step closer. 

‘’ i’m so sorry you had to go through that, ‘’ he whispers, voice a few steps lower than usual- steeped in desire he hopes can be read as sympathy. your bright eyes flicker over his face. 

‘’ yeah, well. perks of bein’ a fuckin’ superhero or whatever. ‘’ she lifts her chin in the air defiantly. ‘’ but i guess you understand that. ‘’ 

‘’ i do, ‘’ he responds immediately, ‘’ i do. ‘’ 

because, okay. maybe he hadn’t _actually_ watched his reality burn; maybe he hadn’t failed to save an imaginary family in an imaginary universe; but he had lost things, fell deeper into black holes that chewed up his soul and spat it out again. 

_we’re the same,_ he wants to say, but again. holds himself back. 

instead he smiles warmly - the sharpness still there, something you do not miss - and says, ‘’ at least we have each other. ‘’

your face lights up with mischief. ‘’ we do? ‘’ you ask, with a cocky head tilt. quentin chuckles and plays up the embarassment. acting like someone caught flirting - which he almost-kind-of-maybe was. 

a blush adorns his handsome face. ‘’ i mean - uh - if you want that. ‘’ he adopts an uncertain waver to his tone; though he’s already sure you’re falling as hard for him as he is for you. 

you bite back a smile and try to dim the fire burning in your belly. it just feels so good - to actually feel something. something that isn’t empty or angry or sad. something good. this connection came too quick and is growing too intense too soon. it can only end in tears. but you make a choice, the only one you’ve ever made. 

let yourself be consumed in the flames, and damn the consequences. 


	3. devoted to destruction

it’s all going so well. as he prepares to ‘’sacrifice’’ himself in order to save the world from the final elemental, he hears your voice screaming his name. behind the fishbowl helmet that obscures his face, he smiles. you sound terrified, heartbroken, devastated. you think you’re going to lose him, and a surge of pride flows through his veins as he realises your feelings for him are real. 

_don’t worry, honey,_ he thinks to himself, _you’re not going to lose me._

both you and parker rush to his side once the monster has disappeared; you drop to your knees and put your hand on his cheek. he groans and leans into it, hears the shuddering relief in your breathing as his eyes blink open. the first thing he sees is your face, covered in smoke and bruises. 

as parker helps him to his feet, you punch him, hard, in the arm. 

‘’ hey! ‘’ 

you are furious. a fire dancing in your eyes, mesmerising in it’s heat. ‘’ you idiot! you idiot - why would you do that? are you trying to get yourself killed?! ‘’ 

quentin takes your shoulders in his hands and squeezes firmly, but soothingly. offering a crooked, weary smile. ‘’ it’s okay, ‘’ he soothes, ‘’ it’s okay. it’s over, it’s okay. ‘’ 

your jaw clenches and you nod once before pulling away from him in irritation. he understands; once the immediate aftermath has worn off he knows you’ll cool down. this anger is nothing more than passion and care. 

fury shakes quentin’s hand and offers him a job - quentin plays along, impatient now, wanting to have that moment with you when you’d give in to the relief and rush into his arms. the moment he knew was going to be worth waiting for. 

—

at the base, again, you’re the last two left. he meets your gaze and smiles. ‘’ still mad at me? ‘’ he questions, softly. you roll your eyes, but it’s fonder. you cross the floor and push at his torso, nudging him into a chair. 

he looks up at you, a question in the rise of his eyebrows. ‘’ you look like shit, ‘’ you tell him, blunt, ‘’ i’ll get some water. clean yourself up. ‘’ 

you bustle around the place and return with a bowl of hot water and a cloth. you move as though to hand it to him, then change your mind and dip it into the steaming liquid. wringing it out, you lift it to his face and push back the stray hairs from his forehead. carefully and intimately sponging off the dirt and blood. 

quentin relaxes against the chair; his eyes fluttering shut. heart skipping a beat at the intimacy of your actions. silence holds steady, interrupted only by the steady hum of machinery. he only opens his eyes when you start to tug at the heavy armour. with your help he removes it, leaving him in his undersuit. you lean back, then let your hands press lightly to his ribs and belly. 

‘’ this hurt? ‘’ 

quentin shakes his head. watching you, your expression open and warm. your eyes meet his and red blooms on your cheeks. 

‘’ what? ‘’ you ask, self-conscious. 

quentin smiles. ‘’ you’re beautiful. ‘’ 

he’s not expecting you to laugh at that, but you do. head ducking away as you attempt to conceal the smile that grows on your lips. it’s the smile you keep hiding from him. the one that betrays too much emotion, the one that makes him feel weightless. 

‘’ you are, ‘’ he insists, his fingers brushing the soft skin of your face as he tries to tilt it back to him. you pull away, not fast enough for him to miss the way your breath hitches. 

‘’ shut up, ‘’ you mutter, playing with the damp cloth. you reach up again to wipe some dirt off the tip of his nose. his hand comes to touch your wrist. everything slows down, this moment, suspended in time.

quentin tilts his head, curiousity colouring in his endless blue eyes. pale lips part, posing a question. 

‘’ can i see? ‘’ 

you frown. ‘’ see what? ‘’ 

‘’ your powers. ‘’ 

you draw away again, face dropping. shoulders slumping, as you shrug. ‘’ i - i don’t know if i can, ‘’ you admit, ‘’ after thanos, i - they’re not working the way they used to. ‘’

quentin leans in and takes your hands in his. ‘’ try, ‘’ he implores, pleading with his eyes. it’s bloody impossible to deny his request, there is no resolve when it comes to him. it’s scary, you’ve never fallen this hard this fast. 

you disentangle your hands from his and nod. taking some deep breaths to anchor yourself. you focus on drawing the energy from the air, the heat under your skin simmering. 

quentin savours the moment. this picture you paint so beautifully in front of him. lashes brushing your cheeks, chest rising and falling evenly. hands laying palms up on your knees, a muscle in your jaw twitching from effort. 

quentin’s eyes only move from your face when a tiny spark ignites between your palms. your eyes fly open, staring down at the flickering flame. as you focus again your hands shape a ball, then a star, then a dancing figure. you look incredibly pleased with yourself, a little pale, but pleased. 

as it dissipates into smoke you fall back and grin, tired. quentin shakes his head, face full of wonder. ‘’ wow, ‘’ he breathes out. ‘’ you are incredible. ‘’

‘’ that was nothin’ - when, or if, they ever come back. i’ll show you proper. ‘’ 

‘’ they’ll come back, ‘’ he tells you, so assured and confident it’s easy to believe. 

you sigh and stand up, moving away with the now dirty water. ‘’ it’s late, ‘’ you call over your shoulder, hoping your trembling hands aren’t noticable. he’s too intoxicating. too inviting. any longer alone with him and you might just tip over the edge completely. you hear him moving behind you. feel his presence coming closer. ‘’ you should probably get some rest... ‘’

you wince as your voice shakes and you turn around, his closeness unexpected. he’s looking at you with such a tenderness it almost hurts to see. 

‘’ let me walk you home. ‘’ he offers, and you want to let him, want to bring him home too. he thinks he has you where he wants you. but he‘s almost forgotten about the story he told about the other you. 

he only remembers when you start to freak out. 

‘’ no. no, um. i’m tired, i’m tired and - i’m not her. i’m not her. ‘’ 

he panics. ‘’ i know, no, wait - ‘’ 

but you’re spiralling now and it’s too late to stop it. ‘’ i am not her and - and i understand it must be frustrating, okay, i get that, because i look like her, i sound like her - ‘’ 

‘’ you don’t, ‘’ he tells you, desperately, ‘’ you’re so different, in little ways and big ways, i swear - ‘’ 

‘’ i gotta go. i have to - this is, ah, this is too much, too soon, and i can’t. i’m sorry. i’m sorry, i just can’t. ‘’ 

and with that breathless statement you practically sprint out of the base. leaving quentin, stunned, disappointed. and worried. 

—

he follows you. partly because he’s afraid that this will mess up his plans. partly because he’s afraid for you. to leave you wandering the streets of prague at night in this state, quentin can’t bear to think about what might happen. 

‘’ honey, please, trust me, i- ‘’ his thumbs sweep gentle strokes across your cheekbones, pulling you close to rest his forehead against yours. ‘’ this isn’t me trying to replace her with you, i promise. ‘’ 

he traces the line of tears down your face. wiping them away with the pad of his thumb. ‘’ quen... ‘’ 

warmth fills up his chest at the nickname. _come on,_ he urges inwardly, _let me in, let me in._

‘’ i’m right here. i’m here, with you. i’m not going anywhere. ‘’ 

the kiss is their undoing. it begins as a soft press of lips, tentative and cautious. a first meeting, souls edging around and getting to know one another. 

it’s you, who bites down softly on quentin’s lower lip, invoking a breathy moan as you part. he stares down at you, wide-eyed and awed. the edges of his mouth curl up into a smug, satisfied smirk - he surges forward then and drags you in, mouth possessing yours, tongue delving in and breath mingling as his arms wind around your waist and hold you against his chest. in a grip as tight as iron, as solid as vibranium. 

quentin doesn’t just kiss you - he _consumes_ you. hands coming to touch and caress and feel and grasp, wherever they can reach. each brush of fingertips ignite a white-hot heat on your skin, as he bruises and bites and pushes - you give back as good as you get, full up with feelings of desire, need, want. 

this place is too exposed, this air too cold. you drag yourself away with great difficulty, quentin lets out a sound akin to a snarl at the loss of contact. for a moment words desert you, as you notice quentin’s expression. hungry. dark. desperate. blue eyes now almost wholly black, lips swollen, bruised, and parted slightly. you shake yourself out of the daze he keeps drawing you into, meeting his gaze with determination. 

‘’ come back to my hotel room. ‘’ 

that smirk again - so sharp, so deadly. so attractive. his hands find yours as you hurry off into the night. 


	4. delusions, illusions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slightly (barely) suggestive content.

you wake up curled against quentin’s chest. his arm slung low over your bare waist, fingers brushing the soft skin of your lower belly.

his breaths are even, face relaxed. he looks innocent. you don’t realise how sinister he can be until you see him this way, entirely vulnerable. 

you shift in quentin’s embrace, slow and careful. trying not to disturb him. moving to rest your face across from his, you uncurl your fist and let it rest against his chest. over the point where his heart beats steady against your palm. 

it’s barely bright, a part of the sky visible through a gap in the curtains. it’s such a pale blue it’s almost white, not a cloud in sight, the sun, a fingerpainted blur on the edge of the horizon. 

quentin’s hand moves. comes to cover yours as he blinks awake, long lashes framing sleepy blues. he smiles. not smirks. not grins. quentin smiles. wide, lazy, content. 

‘’ watching me sleep? ‘’ he asks, through a yawn, one of his eyebrows rising comically. you mirror the smile on his lips. 

‘’ no, ‘’ you mumble, ‘’ just... enjoying the moment. ‘’ 

quentin’s eyes brighten at that, exploding butterflies in your tummy. the softness of the moment is almost too much, almost unbearable. any moment now the knife will cut through and rip him away. any moment now. 

but the knot of anxiety passes, and quentin rolls to lay on top of you. his solid weight and the warmth of bare skin against your own steadies you. his lips brush over yours, hands coming up to frame your face. 

you feel small but powerful with him, in some unexplainable way. it’s addicting, painless, easy as breathing. 

nothing’s been easy since you lost the avengers. 

your throat tightens at the thought of the team - the family you had and now _don’t_ \- so you tuck your head into the crook of quentin’s neck. focusing on the feather-soft sensations of his fingertips tracing senseless patterns on your arms. 

allowing yourself to slip a little deeper into the inferno. 


	5. i’ve always liked to play with fire

_finally._

after years of painstaking planning, of finalising every minute detail, quentin finally has what he wants. 

peter stopped by early the morning after his night with you, breathless and excited. 

‘’ mr. beck! ‘’ 

quentin chuckled. ‘’ what did i tell you about calling me that? ‘’ 

the kid had grinned bashfully. ‘’ sorry, quentin. i have something for you! ‘’

and just like that, he thrusted those seemingly innocuous glasses into his hands. 

quentin had played it coy, of course, insisting no, no, these were not for him. but peter insisted too, that yes, they were. so the man accepted, and peter, poor, trusting, peter, ran back off to rejoin his school trip, light as a feather and happy. 

things really, really could not have worked out better. quentin has even more than he could have hoped for - he has edith, and he has you.

but there was one other thing quentin hadn’t counted on. how smart you are. 

after prague he’s so caught up in both his victory and upcoming masterpiece that he hasn’t paused for a moment to think. he begins to plan his trip to london and hopes you would come with him. he’s beginning to wonder, should he tell you the truth? or is it too soon? 

he wants to tell you so badly.he wants this to be a joint effort now; the idea of what you could achieve together has him near drunk with euphoria. your powers, though momentarily muted, are both real and incredible. once the true force behind them returns you could be unstoppable. no one would dare stand against the one who can control fire. who can bench a double decker bus without breaking a sweat. 

his technology. your abilities. together you could snatch the world in your hands. 

it’s almost perfect. _(almost)_

you’re still healing from the last big fight, in more ways than one. you’re clearly still figuring out how to put the pieces of your life back together. where to start again, and how. and why. 

he wants to be the reason why. wants to be the place where you start again. 

you had left early, even before peter had called by. your phone buzzing, you had sighed and told quentin fury had called you in for something to do with berlin. with a final few kisses you left him in the hotel room. feeling every bit the champion he truly believes himself to be. 

—

truth was, fury had not texted you. prior to your arrival in prague, you called in a favour with a friend of yours in SHIELD data collection. 

search for ‘’quentin beck’’ and note anything peculiar that came up beside his name. turns out, there’s a lot. your friend sent you through the files and you left quentin to delve into them. 

quentin, whose kisses brought you back to life in a flash of light. whose hands traced every single inch of your body with something akin to reverence. who held you tight but gentle in the afterglow, kissing you slower though with no less passion. 

surely this quentin, _your_ quentin... can’t be the same man from these files. 

a cold feeling sits in the pit of your stomach, throat getting tighter and tighter the more you read. you tap out a message to fury in a code you hope he can decipher, then try to call peter, in vain as it goes straight to voicemail. 

you swear under your breath and lock the tablet in your hands, slipping it back into your messenger bag. hoping and praying you’re not going to end up being too late. 

—

‘’ parker! ‘’ 

the kid turns, as you jog up the street to stop in front of him. he greets you pleasantly, though his expression conveys his surprise. 

‘’ what’s up? ‘’ 

you pause for a moment. how to play this without arousing peter’s suspicion. 

‘’ um, can i see edith for a minute? ‘’ 

peter frowns slightly and you curse yourself. 

‘’ i don’t have it. ‘’

wait, what?

‘’ i gave it to quentin this morning. ‘’

‘’ you - why? why, why would you do that? ‘’ 

‘’ because he’s the next iron man! ‘’ 

your stomach lurches, and your heart breaks. peter is desperate to believe it; that much is obvious. you count to five silently and crack the joints of your knuckles. 

‘’ peter. tony left edith to you for a reason, ‘’ you remind him, fighting to keep a calm tone. 

‘’ yeah, because he trusted me to find the one who would know what to do! ‘’ he explains, eagerly, ‘’ he knew i wouldn’t be ready for that kind of responsibility, no way! so he trusted me to find the person that was ready. and that’s quentin. ‘’ peter offers a small, excited smile.

‘’ don’t you see? now i can just be peter. for a while, at least. so i’m gonna go, i’m gonna enjoy the last day of my trip. i’m finally gonna tell mj how i feel, ‘’ he admits shyly. 

you’re struck, for the millionth time, by how young peter actually is. before the snap, he wasn’t much younger than you. but now there’s an extra five years in the difference, and those five years never even happened for him. peter has regular teenage problems. girls he likes and romantic rivals. simple, normal things. 

you can’t be the one to take that away from him. 

you smile. ‘’ good luck with mj. you’re right. go. enjoy your trip. make the most of right now. ‘’

‘’ thanks, ‘’ he says, relieved of his duty for the time being. he runs off into the crowd and you swallow thickly, before turning and disappearing in the opposite direction. 

_okay_ , you think to yourself, _new plan._


	6. cut me open, take my heart

stephen answers the phone on the final ring, just before it cuts to voicemail. 

‘’ yes? ‘’ 

‘’ i need to astral project. ‘’

‘’ or hello, as people used to say, ‘’ the sorceror replies drily. 

‘’ i don’t have time for pleasantries. this is urgent. how can i do it on my own? ‘’ 

on the other end of the phone, strange sighs. ‘’ i suppose warning you against it due to the potential dangers of the act is pointless? ‘’ 

‘’ yep, ‘’ you respond, popping the p. 

‘’ and asking you why you need to astral project? ‘’ 

‘’ i don’t have time. ‘’ 

‘’ of course you don’t, ‘’ he mutters under his breath, before releasing a breath and turning serious. ‘’ okay. listen carefully, and follow these instructions exactly as i lay them out. ‘’

within thirty minutes, you’re set up and ready to go. taking some steadying breaths you lay in the rectangle of lit candles and close your eyes. focusing on where you want to go. 

how long it takes, you can’t be sure. maybe seconds, maybe minutes, maybe hours. eventually, the familiar floating sensation overwhelms your senses and when you reopen your eyes, you look down at your prone form on the ground. weird, you think, never getting used to it no matter how many times you do it. 

right. you haven’t got long. ten minutes or less, any longer and the more difficult it will be for you to return to your physical form. you focus on the image of quentin in your mind; sparkling eyes, razorblade smile, smooth charm, slick hair. green smoke and fishbowl helmet, thick armour, flowing cape. 

you drift through the plane and find yourself in a nondescript building, worn down and aging badly.quentin’s voice reaches your ears, loud and irritated. 

‘’ what do you mean a drone was damaged? why didn’t you go and get it? ‘’

a man, bespectacled, behind a mass of computers. ‘’ it won’t matter, mr.beck, the loss won’t be noticable. ‘’ 

‘’ except, ‘’ the man himself, centre stage, through gritted teeth, ‘’ that peter parker has found that drone and will figure out the truth. ‘’ 

a cold breeze shifts around you; no. no. no. 

**‘’ when i have to kill that kid, his blood will be on your hands! ‘’**

quentin roars, gone is the soft tenderness you experienced only hours ago, here is pure rage. this is a tantrum in a man, a storm of pure emotion. 

**‘’ kill that kid. ‘’**

_peter._

**fuck.**

you close your eyes and focus on getting back to yourself. the fear and panic creates obstacles, when you return, night has fallen outside - to your horror. 

‘’ shit. shit. shit! ‘’

—

how many times can i screw up? you think to yourself, as you wait for quentin in your hotel room. 

how many more people can i hurt, by not realising things until it’s too late? you close your eyes as a montage of painful memories plays across the screen of your mind. 

steve’s secrets, tony, broken and alone in siberia. stephen and peter, the guardians, fading away to dust in front of your eyes. natasha’s hand slipping from yours on vormir; tony with the gauntlet and the stones swallowing him up in an easy gulp. 

your hands start to shake. peter. please be okay. peter has to be okay. 

‘’ honey? what’s going on? ‘’ 

you hadn’t even heard him arriving. you don’t look up, too fearful of what you may see in his face. too fearful of what he may see in your own. 

he calls your name softly, worry in his tone. angry voices bite inside you. _liar. falsehoods. trickster._

his footsteps grow closer and you raise your head, never opening your eyes. 

this is where your illusion shatters. this is where his begins. 

—

‘’ quentin beck - formerly employed by tony stark, under the illusion technology department. ‘’

quentin’s blood runs cold. 

‘’ fired in 2014, due to instability and potential to become a danger to those around him. ‘’ 

his jaw clenches tight enough to ache.  no .  **no** . he will not let tony stark ruin this for him. 

‘’ following beck’s departure from stark industries, tony stark unveils a new therapuetic technique, named BARF - binarily augmented retroframing. ‘’ 

your eyes open to meet his. brutal, unforgiving, a fire of ice blazing. mouth a harsh snarl, a far cry from the usual kind expression he sees. 

‘’ listen to me. i can explain. ‘’ 

you don’t let him. 

‘’ so, hang on. let me see if i got this right, ‘’ you start, ‘’ you work for tony for years. you give your blood, sweat, and tears to a project that is more like, say, your baby, than a project. that’s right, yeah? ‘’

quentin tries to steady his breathing. ‘’ please, just - ‘’ 

‘’ so, tony fires you. right after you’ve made a big break in your work. cites the reason that you’re not stable enough to keep working on this project. you want to weaponise it. tony doesn’t, having shut down manufacturing of weapons years before. so ... what? you spend the next ten years working on this revenge plot? ‘’ 

you cock your head to the side and narrow your eyes. ‘’ or do you wait until he’s dead? because you know you can’t actually pull this shit off with him around. that he would figure it out in a nanosecond. because you can just about compete with a child? ‘’

he yells your name, reaching his breaking point. 

you ignore him but match the volume. ‘’ did i i get it right, mr. beck? have i missed anything out? ‘’ 

‘’ you don’t understand and now you won’t listen! ‘’ 

‘’ i have heard enough from you! ‘’ you laugh, rolling like thunder, low and dangerous. you sober up suddenly. ‘’ the only thing i want you to say? where. is. peter. ‘’

quentin falls silent. you can hear your own heartbeat as he refuses to meet your eyes. 

‘’ where is he? ‘’ your tone, edged with desperation, grows aggressive, causing quentin to nearly wince away. 

‘’ he had to be dealt with. ‘’ (quentin hopes he sounds more confident than he feels.) 

you laugh again, no mirth, just sharp edges. ‘’ don’t. don’t you dare- quentin, where is peter? ‘’

he looks at you with sorrow weighing down his handsome features; features that you now want to punch, hard.

‘’ i’m sorry. it wasn’t supposed to go this way. ‘’ 

like ice water flooding your veins, everything around you freezes. you shake your head, words failing you. 

‘’ you can’t have - you can’t - ‘’ 

quentin holds up his hands and slowly walks up to you. ‘’ i’m so sorry, ‘’ he repeats, and you’d almost believe him, if you could process anything in this moment. 

peter. **dead?**

you let him down. _again._

you let tony down. even when he’s gone you’re still letting him down. 

a ragged breath rips its way from your chest, knees buckling. 

‘’ please, let me - ‘’ 

you rear back when quentin comes close enough to touch. ‘’ no. no. don’t. don’t you fucking - don’t you put a hand on me. you liar. liar. cheat. evil, manipulative, lying- ‘’ 

‘’ now, now, ‘’ quentin chides, almost hurt, ‘’ that’s not very nice. hmm? like i said - it wasn’t supposed to go like this. poor peter, he just - i tried to get him out of the way but he just. kept. interfering. ‘’ quentin chuckles, in a way that says ‘’i mean, what else was i to do? ‘’ 

you stare, swallowing down tears. 

‘’ it’s a shame, ‘’ quentin sighs, ‘’ because i liked the kid. really, i did, ‘’ he insists, searching your face for something that will let him know you believe his words. ‘’ but, casualties happen. ‘’ he says it so matter-of-factly, you can’t even stop yourself. 

he’s lying on his back and your knuckles are burning in the blink of an eye; it’s a good thing for quentin that your powers aren’t on full blast, otherwise the blow most likely would have killed him. 

as it is, when he sits back up, stunned, his nose is crooked, streaming blood. he winces furiously when he touches two fingers to the swollen appendage, and then tilts his head and clicks his tongue against his teeth. 

‘’ i really wish you hadn’t done that. ‘’ 

you open your mouth to speak - just as the room falls away beneath you. leaving you stranded in a black box. empty. vacant. 

‘’ quentin? ‘’ you call out, trying to keep the anger in your voice. ‘’ quentin, don’t. ‘’ the warning comes as more of a plea and you hate that. 

‘’ it’s gonna be okay, honey, ‘’ his voices comes from everywhere and no-where at the same time, disorientating as you get to your feet and stumble around the space. ‘’ don’t worry. you’ll see, soon. you’ll understand. ‘’ 

a low buzzing begins in the distance. your heart hammers against your chest, panic tightening your throat as breathing grows more and more difficult. ‘’ quentin, please- ‘’ you whisper, brokenly, and he almost wants to cut the scene. end the illusion. have you in his arms again, feel you kiss him, touch him, smile at him. 

the buzzing grows louder and he watches you spin around and around as you try to make sense of your surroundings. 

you don’t _understand_ , not yet - he has to **make** you understand. 

‘’ it’s gonna be okay, honey, ‘’ he promises a second time, sad and hopeless. 

a swarm of wasps descend upon you, you shriek and slap them away, more appearing out of thin air. quentin tries to block out your yells of fear and pleas, ‘’ quentin, stop - stop it! please, stop it! ‘’ 

it’s okay, he whispers to himself, it’s gonna be okay. he draws out a syringe from a pocket on his hip, approaching you quietly. 

you punch the air and twist and turn. trying to escape the flurry of buzzing wings swallowing you whole. one of them stings you, a pinch in your neck. dizziness warps your vision, loosens your limbs, throws the world up in the air. 

you drift away into nothingness, peter’s face the last thing you see, in your mind. 

quentin’s voice the last thing that you hear. whispering in your ear. 

‘’ we’ll get through this, honey. don’t worry. i’m gonna keep you safe. ‘’ 


	7. the tremor in a broken heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: canon-typical violence

quentin hates you and loves you in equal measure; you’ve brought a light into his world that he thought was gone for good. you’ve messed up his plan in ways too big to really fix, but he tries anyway. 

once he makes it to london he leaves your unconscious form in a locked room, guarded by one of his henchmen. he informs the man that, under no uncertain terms, ‘’ no harm will come to her, understand? ‘’ 

and the henchman nods firmly - a little thing like you, there’s no danger. quentin presses a lingering kiss to your forehead and brushes back some stray strands of hair from your face. ‘’ i’ll be back soon, ‘’ he promises, ‘’ and you’ll see why this had to happen... you’ll understand and we can be together. ‘’ 

you moan lightly in your sleep before lapsing back into silence. quentin stays by your side a second longer, before his watch beeps to tell him, the time has arrived for his biggest stunt yet. 

remembering the words you said to him not so long ago - ‘’ _do it for her_ ‘’ - he walks down the street, determination in every certain step, thinking, ‘’ _i’m doing this for_ **_you_**. ‘’ 

—

your neck aches. everything aches. you blink awake, bleary, blurry. finding yourself on a thin mattress lazily spread on a concrete floor. your head swims with confusion as you push upwards onto your elbows, waiting for the white spots to recede from your vision before swivelling your head. side to side. 

an empty, windowless room. a thick steel door trapping you in - a single plane of glass in the middle, crossed with bars. outside, a single guard, who grunts and tell yells at you to shut up as you attempt to wheedle, complain, and threatening your way out. 

figuring that it’s not going to work you drop your head in your hands. the only way out now is through stupid powers you can’t access. and all the while quentin is - doing god knows what, really. getting away with murder - the blood in your veins sears white hot. peter. spiderman. gone.

through the surge of dark emotion chewing you up, an idea occurs to you. something you haven’t tried yet, to gain access to your abilities again. you consider the thought for a few long seconds. 

it’s like a patronus charm, that works the opposite way. to produce the spell a witch must bring forth a happy memory, whereas with this, with you... only negative emotions can draw out what remains of your abilities. 

to draw them out of you this way - forceful, painful, could harm you. could kill you. maybe you won’t be able to control what spills out. but you know that you have to try. 

calling on every trauma in your memory, every sickening moment, every sad event, a dull vibration buzzes low in your chest. 

‘’ _he was my friend_ \- ‘’ ‘’ **so was i** ‘’ 

‘’ there was no other way. ‘’

_‘’ thanos did exactly what he said he was going to. he wiped out fifty percent of all life in the universe. ‘’_

**_‘’ it’s okay. let me go. ‘’_ **

**_‘’ and i... am... iron man. ‘’_ **

something tightens in your chest and explodes with a bang. you eye the door and run at it full-tilt, aiming your shoulder to hit near the handle. the steel crashes off the hinges with a shrieking screech, the guard in the hallway jumping a mile in the air in surprise. 

‘’ what the f- ‘’ 

he’s out cold on the floor before he can finish his expletive, your hands immediately finding the handgun on his hip. a window across the hallway, you head in that direction, frowning down at unfamiliar surroundings. 

busy streets, a sea of people moving as one, red buses barrelling down packed roads - a clock tower in the distance.

london. 

no time to pause or wonder how the hell you got here - kicking out as hard as you can, a sheet of shattered glass coats the ground and unsuspecting passersby. you land on both feet, turning to the closest person - a pale, wide-eyed lady, clutching at her chest in shock. before you can say anything, an ominous rumble closes in - too close for comfort. you glance up at the sky, at darkening clouds, then look back to the loose circle of people scattered around you. 

‘’ get out of here as fast as you can. now. tell everyone you meet. run. go. ‘’ you growl out before pushing past and sprinting in the direction of the sound. running down a long rush of water - the thames, you assume - grey shapes move beneath the blue rolls. 

—

‘’ it’s not too late to stop, ‘’ you tell him, a plea clear as crystal. ‘’ you wanna be a hero? you wanna fight bad things? come and work with us. come work with the avengers. or shield, or whatever it is that ends up replacing the avengers. ‘’ you hold your arms open, a welcoming gesture. ‘’ this won’t do anybody any good. ‘’

quentin bares his teeth in a half-smile. ‘’ it’s good for me, ‘’ he corrects, something hazy in his eyes, barely visible behind the lenses of edith, something you’re too afraid to name, ‘’ people will know me, will see me. ‘’

‘’ they’re not seeing anything, quentin, none of it is real! ‘’

‘’ it doesn’t matter, ‘’ he responds, explanatory, ‘’ don’t you see? reality is what i _want_ it to be. ‘’ he grins, wolfish, predatory. gazing at you with sharp focus. ‘’ it could be what **we** want it to be. ‘’

your throat tightens as you shake your head. ‘’ no. no, it isn’t. reality is what it is and no amount of wishing, no amount of technology can change it. ‘’ you blink back tears threatening behind your eyes, raising your voice to be heard over the crashing sounds of the simulation around you. 

‘’ don’t you think i wish you were right? don’t you think i would do anything to be able to create my own little world? a world where natasha romanoff, tony stark, steve rogers, are alive, and with me, and we’re happy? ‘’ a rebellious tear slips out and weaves a path through the dust on your cheek. quentin watches its slow descent, is he even hearing you? 

‘’ but i can’t. because it’s not true. it’s not real- ‘’

‘’ **_what_** is real? ‘’ the man snaps, face deadly and tone pointed, ‘’ what is real? ‘’ 

you blink and allow another few teardrops escape. desperately hoping that he will listen, that you can make this stop - make him stop. ‘’ i’m real, ‘’ your voice softens again, but you know he hears you by the pained grimace that flits over his features. 

‘’ i’m real, and i’m here. please. just stop this. ‘’

quentin regards you quietly, expression thoughtful. your heart beats painfully against the cage of your ribs, an animal prying itself free. the last moment of hope; that withers away when quentin’s walls spring up around him again and he steps back. he whispers some words that trigger fissure points along the seams of your heart; ‘’ _you ruined everything._ ‘’ 

louder, then, more confident. 

‘’ it’s too late now. ‘’

he reaches for the device on his wrist and you pull the gun from your waistband. 

and quentin, well, he has to give you credit where it’s due. you’ve surprised him, yet again, and he breaks into an amused chuckle at the sight of the pistol. 

on the bridge you face him, hair dishevelled, edith glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose. your own face, bruised and cut, screws up in a grief-stricken expression. you swear you see quentin’s eyes softening before ignoring that thought and taking another step toward him. 

‘’ give me the glasses, ‘’ you say, hating the shake in your voice as you speak. quentin doesn’t move. 

‘’ i said. give me. the glasses, ‘’ you try again, hand tightening around the butt of the gun. he raises his eyebrows, manic and cocky. 

‘’ you won’t shoot me. ‘’ 

you swallow. ‘’ try me. ‘’ 

a long, tense moment. he studies you carefully, the tight line of your shoulders, how steady you hold the weapon aimed toward his chest. no words are exchanged though there are a million things you want to say to him. 

but you won’t let him see you hurt. not again. you’ve been vulnerable with him before, and he will never again have that satisifaction. you swear it. 

‘’ one last chance, ‘’ you warn, voice cracking under the pressure behind the words. quentin inhales deeply then blows the breath out slow, still never moving an inch. his hands drop back down- 

the shot rings out, deafening, splitting the air in two. 

quentin jumps, the bullet whizzing an inch away by his ear. eyes widening almost comically, he stares at you with his jaw dropped. a muscle in your own jaw twitches as you pull back the safety a second time. 

‘’EDITH- ‘’ 

before he can say anything else a blur of red and blue tackles him to the side, knocking the breath from his lungs and the glasses off his face. skidding halfways across the metal walkway, not far from your feet. however you’re too focused on the shifting colors holding quentin down with an unbridled fury - _no, wait, **how** -_

‘’ peter? ‘’ you breathe out, and he turns to you. his mask covering his face but you know he’s trying to smile. that’s what peter does, after all, even after an attempt on his life. 

quentin’s eyes snap to the glasses and in peter’s moment of distraction, he bucks and sends the kid flying, hitting the railing with a painful rattle. he scrambles for the glasses. 

gun forgotten in your panic and haste, it falls with a thud to the floor as your hand stretches out. sparks of orange and blue jump out from the tips of your fingers to engulf quentin’s hand. he hisses, curses, and jerks away- looking up at you with a seething hatred that leaves you breathless. 

peter recovers and slings some webs around the other man’s wrists, you dive for the glasses but a drone appears, bullets firing rapidly. sliding to the floor in an effort to dodge them, you accidentally nudge edith with your foot, sending them flying back closer to quentin. 

the drone turns its attention on peter and you yell his name - he turns and ducks and ties it up in fluid string, the machine exploding with a bang and crashing down into the water below. 

quentin has edith back, now, and suddenly the bridge falls away to leave you in a blank empty space. you barely suppress a wail; how the hell can you even try to escape this? 

quentin’s voice breaks the darkness, addressing peter. 

‘’ you want the glasses? come and get them. ‘’ 

there’s a second of still silence - before the edges of the scene begin to tear and shed light, and the more drones peter destroys the more reality comes back into focus. 

when the last of the simulation fades, you find quentin on the floor, blood seeping through the grey jumpsuit. you bite back yet another cry, how can you still care after all he’s done? 

he speaks some low words to peter, who has removed his mask. the expression on his young face shatters the pieces of your soul into sharp fragments; red eyes, flushed cheeks, trembling lips. 

quentin removes the glasses and holds them up to peter. something shimmers just before your line of sight. you frown; and then gasp. 

without thinking, the last of your strength gathers, and you launch yourself toward peter, crashing into him from behind. just as the real quentin fires your discarded pistol. his face drops in horror and then he drops due to blood loss. the quentin on the ground disappears and peter grips your face in his hands. 

‘’ no, wait, no- ‘’ 

you pull your arms to loop around his neck, the shot to your shoulder burning - but something else burns low in your gut. something familiar and exhilerating; your healing factor, kicking in. you manage a smile despite the circumstances. 

‘’ hey, hey, kid, hey, kid, it’s fine. i’m gonna be fine. ‘’ you cut through peter’s worried stutters and squeeze his face gently. relief takes over for a second. 

then, his eyes fall over your shoulder. quentin is gasping for breath. hand pressed to the bloody wound on his belly. your breath catches. peter’s legs fail him and he drops next to the villain, and you don’t need anyone’s illusion tech to transport you back to the worst day of your life. 

because here you are, yet again, holding back a screaming peter as he breaks and breaks and breaks, and breaks again until he’s almost slipping through your fingers in pieces. quentin tries to speak. fails. stares at you instead. 

‘’ why? ‘’ peter sobs, you barely have the strength left to hold him close, ‘’ why? ‘’

_why, quentin? why?_ you echo the question in your mind, too overwhelmed, too exhausted, too distrustful of your own heart to speak up. 

quentin shivers and parts of his body spasms sporadically. he catches enough breath to answer the kid he cut to the bone with betrayal.

funnily enough, it doesn’t make any of them feel any better. 

‘’ people needed to believe in something. these days... they’ll believe in anything. ‘’ 


End file.
